


Venom Sting

by AlessiaCarabella



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beacon Hills, Coma, Hospitals, Hurt Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessiaCarabella/pseuds/AlessiaCarabella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is brutally injured in an attack by an unknown creature. Derek and Scott must figure out how to help him. Warning: Not season 3 compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hospital Beds

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt given to me by [dionebacchus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dionebacchus) this morning over Skype. Work in progress. This is my first fic in a very long time so constructive criticism is more than welcome. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Just as an fyi the rating is subject to change. I'm still getting used to this site as a posting platform as well so things may be a bit wonky until I figure it out!

He’d been like this for two weeks. Lying there hooked up to so many machines he had almost disappeared in that mess of wires, tubes, and god knows what else.  The gentle hum of the equipment accompanied the perfectly timed beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of the air being pumped in and out of his lungs. It kept a meticulous beat, a rhythm that ensured that Stiles Stilinski would continue to exist even though the doctors had said that without the machines he would most certainly not make it through another night.

            Scott had hardly left his side since the attack, he only left when his mother would come in and make him go downstairs to eat something, and even then only if Mr. Stilinski had come to sit by his son’s side in his stead. She would take his hand and lead him down to the cafeteria, watching him carefully and making sure he ate at least a little bit of something. Still he mostly played with his food, stabbing his fork mindlessly into the bland mashed potatoes just to watch the greasy, flavorless gravy fill the voids that this action left behind. The brown goo would spill over and quickly cover the four empty spots left by the prongs of the fork, Scott wondered if those wounds that Stiles had so bravely incurred in his attempt to stave off the attacker would ever heal over or if his father would finally make the decision to pull the plug and let his sons body be mended, not by time, but by the skilled hands of a mortician who specialized in making the dead look like they were only sleeping.

            The thoughts troubled him constantly and he couldn’t help but to blame himself for everything that had happened that night. Even though initially his anger had been directed at Derek, Scott knew that it had been his own actions that had distracted Stiles long enough for that creature, whatever the hell that creature had been, to land its terrible blow.

            Scott’s mother placed her hand on her son’s forearm; the unspoken signal that he’d eaten just enough to return to his friend’s hospital room. He pushed the nearly full plate away from himself, rising to follow the familiar path back to his seat beside the hospital bed.

            When he returned to the room Mr. Stilinski was still there, his eyes were red, his face a dead giveaway for just how little sleep he had gotten in the past few weeks. His shoulders were slumped and his breathing was ragged. The smell of alcohol was apparent through his cologne but no one said anything. First a wife and now the threat of losing his son, everyone understood. Anyone whose worried eyes met his tired and desperate ones seemed to see in them the request for a silent pact; let me live here a while, they said, let me find my own way to the acceptance I know I will be forced into, but for now please just let me live here. Let me mourn.

            Scott’s eyes met Mr. Stilinski’s and he nodded, acknowledging these unspoken requests. The sheriff stood from the chair beside his son’s bed and cleared his throat. Scott replaced him, falling into the still warm chair to continue the vigil at Stiles’ bedside. The sheriff gave one last long look to his sons face before leaving the room in silence.

**

 For weeks Derek had been holed up in a dirty motel room on the edge of town. Whatever that creature had been had left him in a bad enough state that he was still recovering from the battle. The wounds had healed well enough now all except one large gash that ran the length of his left shoulder to his right hip. Whatever that thing had been it had had claws. And whatever it was it was still out there.

            He hadn’t had time to think of what had happened in the last little while. He hadn’t thought of much of anything. Mostly he had slept. Mostly he had dreamt. Fever dreams, confusing. He remembered the warehouse; he had asked Scott to meet him there, he had needed to talk. The blurred image of Scott showing up with his over-eager little sidekick replayed over and over in his head. The creature was behind him, he would feel it in these dreams, he knew it now but he hadn’t sensed it then. He would will himself to turn around but he couldn’t. They all just stood there, the conversation playing out. Then the burning across his back. The feeling of blood pouring from the open wound. Being tossed across the warehouse into the wall so hard it broke. He would feel the pain caused by his dragging himself across the dirty floor, the searing pain that shot like electricity when he pulled himself to his feet then collapsed again to the floor. The memories would fade in and out then. Scott still standing there, trying to sense the creature none of them had seen. The thing that was then shrouded in darkness though it stood in the middle of the room. And Stiles, what the hell was he thinking the idiot, standing in front of him, trying to shield him from whatever this thing was. Stiles keeping his eyes on the creature, the creature not moving…why wasn’t it moving?  Then Scott, shouting something, Stiles turning his head.  And that’s when it had happened. The blood, he would never forget the blood, Stiles’ muffled gurgle as the creature struck at his chest, slicing him from right to left the same as it had struck at Derek.

            He hadn’t screamed. Derek remembered that. Just a soft, muffled sound, a sound that signaled something had gone very wrong. Scott had screamed though. Scott had dragged them both out of that building to the car and driven them both to the hospital. Derek had fought him on that one. Pushed him out of the open driver’s door with nearly the last of his strength. He had yelled at him to get his friend and watched as Scott ran toward the emergency room doors carrying the boy who, by then, had lost so much blood that the back seat was soaked in it. Still flowing it left a trail from the car to the doors and, he assumed, well into the hospital.

            He didn’t wait around. It wasn’t a bright idea to sit there. He had to get somewhere he could safely heal, somewhere different, somewhere far from town.

            That’s how he had ended up at the Beacon of Paradise Motel and RV Resort, a scummy little motel that mostly specialized in renting by the hour to less than savory folk. Showing up in the condition that he had guaranteed he got right in. The greasy manager had been more than willing to rent him a room, likely because he expected a bit of a payoff if Derek ended up croaking in his “luxury suite.” There was no doubt in Derek's mind that this was the kind of sad excuse for a human being who would raid a dead man’s pockets for a little extra cash then roll his body out to the side of the road for someone else to find. Derek had paid the man, taken his room key and hadn’t left the room since. Now healed, but weak from lack of food, he left, returning to the blood stained car he had practically abandoned in the parking lot and heading back toward town.


	2. No Light

  _Something was off, maybe it was the colors, or maybe it was the sound. Everything seemed distorted to Scott as he wandered the empty halls of his school.  His footsteps sounded more like a rush of air as they hit the floor and every now and then he seemed to get the sense that someone was following him.  He wondered why he was here, how he had ended up here, as he walked into the locker room. He went to the familiar locker, opening it. Stiles’ lacrosse gear hung there, lifeless, limp. It was like it knew._

_“Hey!” Came a voice from behind him. It sounded like someone trying to talk under water. Almost gurgling more than actual words. “What are you doing?”_

_Scott turned around to see Stiles standing there in front of him wearing a white shirt and shorts, looking like he had the last time he’d seen him, he blinked and tried to rub his eyes but couldn’t lift his hands._

_“What’s with the face, man?” Stiles asked him in his strange gurgles._

_Scott tried to respond but found he’d lost his voice. He could feel the hot tears running down his face. He fought with the lump in his throat and after what seemed like forever he managed to say his friend’s name._

_“Stiles?” He questioned._

_“Who else would it—“ The smile that had formed on Stiles’ face when his friend had spoken disappeared in an instant and was replaced with a horrifying and familiar look. Wide eyes, open mouth, and that sound. That sound. Blood stains spread across the white t-shirt though no wound was visible. Scott tried to reach out but was glued to the spot. Then he saw that darkness. It was creeping toward the other boy, tendrils spreading across the walls, enveloping him._

_“Stiles!” Scott screamed, as all but his friends face was lost to the shadow._

_“Find…Derek…” Stiles managed as the veins in his face colored black and his face paled sheet white before he was swallowed by the shadow._

_Scott shouted incoherently, the shadow creature crept toward him. Suddenly he found his legs, he ran, dodging the open lockers and benches trying to get for the door. He jumped, attempting to close that last bit of space between himself and escape. Something caught his leg in mid-air and he slammed to the floor._

 

With a jolt Scott’s eyes opened revealing the sterile hospital environment around him. He looked quickly to the bed where his friend was, frightened at the prospect of seeing what he had just seen in his dream. There was no change, however, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

His temper flared when he remembered Stiles’ final words to him in his dream.  _Find Derek_. He realized that in all this time not once had Derek shown his face. Stiles had risked his life trying to protect him, was at the brink of death, and where the hell was he? He steadied his breathing and glanced at Stiles on the bed again. His temper subsided as he watched him there, hooked up to all those machines.

_Find Derek. Okay, Stiles._  He thought.  _If that’s what you want then I’ll find him. But I can’t guarantee anything._

 

**

            The car shuddered to a stop just as it reached the gas station Derek pushed it to the pump, the cut across his back burning as he made the effort. Still he managed to get it done and though now exhausted with beads of sweat running down his face he felt more confident that, though it was oddly slow, he was still healing.

            He found himself wondering what he would find when he made it back to town. Had anyone else been attacked by that thing? Had Scott gone and gotten himself killed trying to find it? Then his mind wandered to Stiles and paused on the thought. He found himself wondering if the kid was okay. Sure he was irritating but that didn’t mean Derek wanted him dead. His personality was grating but at the same time could be very endearing. He thought back to the image of the boy standing in front of him. His eyes fixed on that shadow.  He smiled, warmed at the thought of the kid trying to protect him. The pump clicked and shook him from the thought.  He replaced it, pocketed the keys, and locked the car.

            He knew the pickings for anything of nutritional value inside the convenience store would be slim but he’d headed in anyway hoping to find something to calm his stomach since apparently it had decided it had had enough of being empty.  He combed through the rows of greasy potato chips cringing at the sight of them. His stomach made a loud sound of protest when he reached the heated case, the idea of an hours old burger or hot dog nearly making him dry heave. Finally he managed to find a mini package of past-date crackers. He also spotted some original flavor beef jerky and, when the thought of eating it didn’t instantly make him nauseous, decided to get that as well.

            The boy at the counter couldn’t have been older than 16, Derek eyed him up and down as he scanned the crackers and the jerky as well as the ginger ale he’d grabbed on his way to the register. His resemblance to Scott’s gawky friend had him feeling a little uncomfortable. Especially when the boy looked back up and their eyes met.

            “You need to hurry, Derek.” Stiles voice seemed to come out of the young boy’s mouth.

            “I’m sorry?” Derek sputtered back, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. For a split second he hadn’t just resembled Stiles, he was Stiles. When his vision cleared there stood the boy-cashier looking rather uncomfortable.

            “I said that will be $7.95 please…” The young man stated uncertainly.

            Derek pulled a crumpled ten from his pocket, the last of his money for the time being and set it on the counter. “Keep the change.” He said, gathering his things and making for the car.

            As soon as he was safely inside he locked the doors and dropped what he was holding into the passenger seat. Grabbing the steering wheel with both hands he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked about as well as he felt, the shirt he was wearing was still dirty though it had soaked for days in the bathroom sink. His face was more than scruffy since being passed out in a fever haze on a bed doesn’t really lend itself to shaving and his hair was flying every which way. Admittedly he looked like a crazy hermit so it made sense the kid had been uncomfortable with him there. He tried to flatten down his hair and made a note to himself that before he saw anyone he would have to shave. He was grateful that at the very least someone had left an oversized hooded jacket in the car that night and while it wasn’t exactly the most flattering article of clothing, especially on top of his crazed mountain man look, it at least did the job of covering the ripped and bloodstained back of his shirt.

            He reasoned to himself that the incident back in the convenience store had only been a result of his not eating and that he was still healing. In an attempt to fully convince himself of that fact he met his own eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded as though that put the final stamp on those thought. Reaching over Derek snagged the tiny box of crackers. His hands shook as he fumbled with the flaps of the cardboard box and he had even more trouble with the plastic that was keeping the crackers captive in their little cracker prison. Eventually he managed to get them open and shoved a few into his mouth. Stale. Oh well, at least it was something. He only got about a quarter of the way through the crackers before his stomach started to cramp. He took a few slow sips of the ginger ale then set the can back into the cup holder.

            Realizing if he was going to drive anywhere he’d have to rest a while and try to get his head on straight he started the car and pulled it around to the side of the gas station that wasn’t visible from the convenience store. He checked for cameras just to be safe and when he found none he crawled over the seat into the back and curled himself up, wrapped in the oversized jacket. As he drifted off a familiar scent became apparent and he murmured a quiet thank you to Stiles as he dropped off into a deep sleep.

 


	3. Whiskey in the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here's a new chapter for you all! I work quite a bit so I just want to let you know the updating may at times be a little slow. I will try to post at least one chapter a week though. Please feel free to send me your input if you have any because, like I said, I value constructive criticism. Thank you for the comments I've already received and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

 

            The door to the Stilinski home opened with a soft squeak. The sheriff was greeted by the quiet and darkness of the empty house. He reached for the nearly empty bottle he’d set by the door as he’d walked out that morning not hesitating to take a swig before even setting foot inside. There was no one to greet him and no one to care. He had damn near lost everyone in his life that had mattered up until this point and his son had been the only thing, the final person that he had left. And now? Now what? Now he was lying comatose in a hospital bed. And why? Because he’d been brave, he’d fought off some mysterious attacker that had sliced him open and left him for dead. But the sheriff couldn’t reward him for that; it was a knife to his heard every time he thought of it.

            He knew he should be in that hospital room. By his son’s side. He knew he should be there with him, watching those horrible machines push air, click, whirr, and keep his son alive. He knew he should be there facing the reality that he was going to lose the one person in his life that gave him drive, that kept him going. But he just couldn’t.

            He remembered the call from the hospital. A panicked Scott on the other end, speaking through sobs. His heart had dropped from his chest in that moment, slowly eaten up by the poisonous bile that filled his stomach, burning and disintegrating with every word that continued to pour from the mouth of his son’s best friend.

            Mr. Stilinski squeezed the bottle in his hand tight, taking another swig before throwing it violently at the wall. It shattered, the glass flying everywhere as the brown liquid dripped down to the floor like whiskey tears. He stared at the mess for a moment then he simply walked away.

 

**

            Scott had started the search for Derek in a less than formal way. A way that ensured that, at least for now, he would still be able to sit by his friend. His mother’s concern had grown over the last two days as Scott had refused to leave the room at all now. She had brought him food, which he had ignored not because he wasn’t hungry but because he had more important things to do. He felt bad for worrying her but he rationalized that if she knew what he was doing she would be on his side. Even though he himself wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. The message from Stiles, or at least what he had thought had convinced himself had been a message from Stiles, had given him back some of his hope and left him with a renewed sense of purpose. He was determined to help his friend at any cost.

            His phone that had been resting on the windowsill sprang to life vibrating loudly against the wooden frame. He grabbed it, his heart beating fast hoping that the response would be a good one.

            His heart sank as he read the message.

                        _No luck. Sorry._

            It looked like he was going to have to do this on his own. He stood from the chair, looking out into the hallway. A nurse walked by and he stopped her.

            “Could you get my mom for me, please?”

            The nurse nodded and called for Ms. McCall over the radio that each nurse kept attached to their name badge. She was there almost instantly, her hands on her sons arms.

            “Is something wrong?”

“No, mom, nothing’s wrong. I just need to go do some stuff. I was wondering if you could sit with him.” He glanced back over his shoulder at his friend then again to his mother.

            “I’ve got a lot to do, Scott…” She said gently, “You know I would if I could.” She saw the look of anxiety in her son’s eyes and sighed, pulling him close.

            “I don’t want to leave him alone mom, but I have to go. Please?”

            “I can have an aid come sit with him, would that be alright?”

            Scott nodded, squeezing his mom in a tight embrace. “Just check in on him every once and a while? And don’t let them leave him alone.”

            Melissa pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead and released him from the embrace. “I won’t. Just promise me you’ll eat something and that you’ll be careful.”

            Scott nodded, “I will mom, don’t worry.” He smiled a little for the first time in a while, an attempt to reassure her. He knew it was a lie, he hated lying to her, but he also knew that if she actually understood what had happened, who he was going to find, and what was really going on she would probably never let him leave her sight again.

**

            Derek stirred to the sound of a tap tap tap on the windshield. He tried to open his eyes but the light outside made them ache so he closed them again quickly. He hadn’t meant to sleep through the night but his body had apparently decided otherwise. He yawned and stretch, he could feel the cut on his back had healed up a little more during the night but it was still far from better.

            There was another tap tap tap on the windshield but this times Derek eased his eyes open. On wiper blade stood a tiny little black bird, pecking every so often at the glass. Its eyes were large and inquisitive and it chirped when it seemed to register that he was awake. He wondered how long it had been there and how, for that matter, the bird had recognized that he had opened his eyes. When he didn’t move the bird chirped again and cocked its head to the side. It seemed to be staring at him.

            “What do you want?” He asked the bird gruffly. It chirped back at him in response then pecked at the glass again. He blinked. Had the bird just responded to him? No. It couldn’t have. Still he looked at it again and asked, “Did you just—“ before he could finish his question the bird chirped again, lifting its wings and looking rather frustrated. It pecked three more times at the glass before spreading its wings and taking off. Derek sat confused in the back seat of the car for another minute, staring at the spot where the bird had been. He convinced himself that he was just hungry and reached for the package of crackers and the beef jerky in the front seat. He ate until he couldn’t stand the taste anymore and his stomach threatened to push everything back to the world from whence it came. He drank a few swigs of the now flat ginger ale, cringing as the syrupy liquid poured down his throat. He willed himself to keep that down too, breathing slowly and trying to get his stomach calm. When he succeeded he crawled into the driver’s seat, pulled the keys from his pocket, started the car, and headed toward town.

 


	4. Ghost

Scott didn’t know where to start. The trail would be cold by now and it had rained for those first three days after Scott had dragged Stiles practically lifeless body through the emergency room doors. Thankfully the hospital wasn’t all that far from Scott’s house so he stopped off to get a quick shower and a change of clothes.

            He had forgotten how nice it was to be clean. In the last two weeks he’d hardly cared about that sort of thing but as he stepped out of the shower into the steam filled bathroom he felt suddenly lighter, like he had washed away the hospital smells and with them gotten rid of his troubles, at least for the moment.

            The softness of the fresh clothes he pulled from his dresser comforted him even further. He was almost tempted to lay down, to close his eyes and forget for a little while about the world around him, to forget about the hospital, with its bright lights and beeping, and forget about the fact that if the power went out and the generators at the hospital failed…well, he tried not to think about that anyway. He sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands, letting out a sigh. As much as he just wanted to sleep and damn the world and all his troubles he cared too much for his friend to, after all this time, lose more time wasting away in that hospital room.

            “Am I interrupting something?” The familiar voice seemed to fill the room, breaking the silence and derailing the train of Scott’s thoughts.

            The young man looked up, the look of sadness shifting to one of newly found anger. “Where the hell have you been?” He asked, his voice shaking.

            “Recovering,” Derek responded flatly. He could see Scott’s shoulders tense, his hands becoming fists that he clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

            “You could have said something. You could have told me…something, anything! I brought you to a hospital and you just disappear? What kind of logic is that? Nobody hears from you for two weeks and Stiles is just lying there…” Scott trailed off his head spinning. He realized that to Derek he probably was uttering a bunch of nonsense and he tried to collect his thoughts but he couldn’t keep those feelings he’d been suppressing inside himself anymore. His fist flew and found the wall, breaking through the barrier, sinking wrist deep into it. He stood there, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself down, fighting the urge to just let the wolf come through and destroy absolutely everything in sight.

            Derek approached him cautiously, not wanting, at this particular moment, to antagonize him further. He stood there, uncertain of where to go from here. When Scott’s shoulders began to relax and he removed his fist from the wall he found himself relieved.

            “He tried to protect you. Idiot. I don’t know why.” Scott stated, the lump in his throat making the words difficult.

            “I know,” Derek replied, “Take me to him.”

**

            The hospital was quieter at night. Scott recognized the familiar suffocating quality in the air that wasn’t there in daylight. The halls that usually had so many doctors and staff milling around going about their work were more calm now, only the machines were heard, keeping their beats, keeping their captives breathing for another day. The night nurse recognized Scott, giving him a small nod as he passed but eyeing Derek with a bit of suspicion. She didn’t question his presence any further when she saw Scott stand aside to let Derek enter the room before him but made herself more alert, just in case.

            Melissa McCall was asleep in the chair beside the hospital bed, her head was propped up only my her hand and forearm, her mouth hung open and every inhale was a soft snore. Scott motioned to Derek to hide in the bathroom; Derek shot him a look of irritation but went in anyway, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him. Scott knelt down beside his mother, placing his hand lightly on the forearm that wasn’t helping to support her head.

            “Mom.” He whispered gently, shaking her arm a little.

            “Mmmrr?” She grumbled back at him, a look of discontent spreading across her face.

            “Mooooom,” Scott repeated, a small smile crossing his face, “Wakey wakey.”

            Melissa McCall opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dim light around her. “Oh god, it’s a nightmare.” She said, noting her surroundings, “It’s the one where I have to live here and…” She turned to see Scott, the smile on his face now a smirk, “Not a nightmare?” She queried.

            “Some of it, but not all.” He responded, his gaze shifting back toward the bed where his friend lay.

            Melissa followed his stare, her eyes resting on the boy in the bed. “You staying again tonight?”

            He nodded.

            “You’ll have to come home and get some real sleep soon, Scott.”

            “I know, mom. But I just don’t want to leave him alone.”

            “I know, but you shouldn’t be the one—“ She trailed off, her eyes meeting those of her son, “I just want you to be okay.”

            Scott didn’t respond. He couldn’t honestly find the words. He knew what she had begun to say, and he knew that if he could just figure something out that things could be okay. He just didn’t know yet what he had to figure out, he knew he was grasping at straws but he also knew he had to try.

            Scott’s mom stood. “Try and get some sleep.” She said firmly.

            “I will, mom.” Scott replied as he rose to give her a hug.

            Melissa kissed her son’s forehead gently, giving him a firm squeeze not wanting to let go. “I’ll send you a text when I get home.”

            Scott nodded, “I might be asleep.” Another lie, the likelihood of him getting any sleep tonight was slim to none. He wondered how many lies he’d racked up in the last little while and if somewhere someone was keeping count. If hell did exist it probably was looking pretty bad for him about now.

            “If you are then just message me in the morning.”

            “I will.”

            “You’d better.”


	5. Ye Olde Hope

After Melissa had left the room he headed toward the bathroom to let Derek out. He knocked twice lightly, just in case and Derek opened the door looking even more upset about his hiding place than he had before he’d gone in.

            “What?” Scott asked confused as to what had made him so upset.

            “Nothing.” Derek responded, pushing past Scott out of the bathroom. As he did Scott caught the smell that crept out behind him and swallowed a laugh, shutting the door to cut it off before it filled the room. He almost felt bad for trapping Derek in there, the key word being almost.

            “I don’t smell like that, do I?” Derek asked, frustrated that he even had to.

            “You wear too much cologne to smell like that. It maybe wore away at one or two layers but you’ve still got at least six more before it came close to clinging to your skin.” Scott replied, still holding back laughter.

            Derek grunted and turned toward Stiles. “What are his injuries?”

            “Broken bones, some trauma to the head…” Scott trailed off, suddenly feeling guilty for laughing, feeling guilty for having ever had a smile on his face that his best friend hadn’t been the cause of. He still blamed himself.

            Derek’s eyes fixed on him expectantly, his tone gruff when he spoke again, “If you want to help him you’d do a better job of it if you kept talking, not clamming up.”

            Scott felt anger rise from the pit of his stomach but he swallowed it back down taking a deep breath and a moment of silence to collect himself before he continued, “He has a cut,” he took his hand and traced the line from shoulder to hip across his chest, mimicking the one Stiles had hidden beneath his hospital clothes, “I guess that thing, whatever it was, sliced him or…the doctor’s said it looked like the person who attacked him had a really big, really sharp knife.”

            “A really sharp…something.” Derek murmured very matter of fact under his breath, feeling his own matching wound sting a little at the thought, “Something, not a knife. And not claws, at least it doesn’t look like claws.”

            “He ran a high fever the first few days. They said it was likely his body fighting an infection, trying to heal him. But they also said that he would be okay. Then he just…I mean they gave him blood, he was stable…” Scott shook his head, taking deep breaths now between his words, not wanting to let himself “I guess they weren’t one hundred percent sure but…they seemed pretty confident.”

            “Doctors always seem confident, what happened?”

            “He just hasn’t woken up. His brain just sort of…stopped? I guess. I don’t know what you’d call it, I don’t know how they decide that but they did. They talked to his dad about how he would have to seriously consider long term care…how he would have to consent to taking him off life support…it didn’t go over well…”

            At that statement Derek just shook his head, his eyes running the length of the body of the boy in the bed. He imagined it might be difficult for a man who had a family to love to, though it wasn’t his fault, knowingly be the cause for the last breath of his last surviving close tie, his own flesh and blood.

            The room was tense now as Scott waited, his eyes fixed expectantly on Derek, secretly hoping he had some answer though in his heart he felt that the likelihood was very slim. He watched as Derek moved toward the bed, drawing back the covers just enough to lift the hospital gown, just enough to see the bandages covering the massive wound.

            Derek’s eyes settled a moment on the bruises around the young man’s neck then slowly drifted down to the white bandages hiding the deep laceration.

            Scott shifted uncomfortably, something about the way the look on Derek’s face shifted when he turned and met his gaze made his stomach churn.

“There might be something we can do.” He stated simply as he pulled the hospital gown down once again and the covers back up. “I’m just not sure you’re going to like it.”

 

**

            _Love you, Mom._

            The screen of the cellphone glowed brightly even under the bright lights of the hospital room, flickering only for a moment as Scott sent the message he’d just written. It had been two nights since he and Derek had come to the hospital. Two days since he’d been told that the only way to save his friend was to risk putting the final nail in his coffin.

            Derek had spoken clearly that night, made sure Scott new exactly what he would be agreeing to; a first, really. He drove home the point that in order to save his friend they would have to risk killing him, they would have to try and change him, make him one of them.

            They spared no words in the exchange that followed. Scott had even come damn near to socking Derek right in the eye. He hadn’t succeeded, but he’d gotten close. He closed his eyes, running over the scene once again in his mind.

            _Derek had held him there tight by the wrist, forcing him to listen to his words._

_“Look this is all I’ve got so if you want my help I suggest you listen up and memorize quickly. The way I see it is we either change him or he dies, I’m not trying to play games with you, so don’t be stupid here. Yes you risk killing your friend but you also risk killing him if you don’t, one way he has a chance the other he’s dead or a potato head for the rest of his life.”_

_Despite the harsh truth in those words Scott had fought him, tried to think of a way out of it, though really what other way did he know? It’s not like he’d been born knowing these things, and beyond what he had learned in the last little while about his condition he knew nothing about the supernatural world. Even as he continued to fight Derek physically his resolve to fight what he was saying weakened and dissolve. Eventually he stopped resisting._

_“Why the full moon, is it significant?”_

_“Just hoping it might give us a little boost.” Derek had stated._

_“Does that really make a difference?” Scott had questioned._

_“We can hope it does.”_

            Scott’s eyes opened and he turned his gaze to the window, fixing his stare on the setting sun. The sky was a burnt orange, a few clouds here and there reflecting vivid pinks and violets making it look increasingly unnatural, almost surreal. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling his heart rate increase, becoming more and more anxious the lower the sun sank. He hit a button on his phone, the screen lit up, the time now visible in large bold numbers across the width of it. He stared at the number until the screen went dark again then returned to watching the sunset, waiting and fidgeting nervously.

 

**

 

            Derek arrived at the hospital just after sunset, walking with purpose toward Stiles’ hospital room. The heat had been unusually intense for a June in Beacon Hills and though he had tried to sleep most of the day away in anticipation of a long night he had still had trouble staying that way and found himself rising intermittently to douse himself with cool water in an attempt to lower his body temperature. The air conditioning of the hospital was a nice reprieve after such an uncomfortable day and though his business there was unpleasant he at least found a little comfort in that.

            Scott was waiting for him, still sitting in the same chair and what appeared to be the same clothing and position he had left him in two nights prior. It was almost unsettling how it seemed he hadn’t moved an inch since their last encounter, how Scott didn’t even turn to look at him when he entered the room though, no doubt, he could probably sense him there and Derek knew he’d tried to make a little bit of noise to announce himself when he’d entered. He stood there, eyes flitting around the room, taking in the details he’d missed a few days ago. He realized it had probably been a while since Scott had been home, the open backpack on the far side of the room had clothes spilling out of it and a plastic bag containing a toothbrush and toothpaste had been left to sit disregarded on the floor beside it. The whole scene seemed the remnants of some very unfortunate, very disturbing slumber party to Derek who for some reason could suddenly not stop thinking about every horror movie he’d ever seen that had involved a hospital. Not that it scared him any. He was, technically, one of the creatures that the folks who went to see those films were afraid of so it wouldn’t make sense for him to let it get to him. Nonetheless he did get a momentary shiver when his eyes fell to Stiles, still lying on the bed. Maybe it was the peacefulness that seemed apparent on his face, maybe it was all the wiring and tubing keeping him alive, or maybe it was just the fact that in all the time Derek had known him this was the quietest he’d ever been.

            He shook that feeling off and cleared his throat, made a fist, and knocked lightly on the nearest hard surface. This time Scott noticed him; he turned to look at him, the shadows under his eyes were much deeper now than they had been before. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just met the young man’s gaze. Finally, when he’d had enough of the silence he spoke.

            “Are you ready?”

            “As ready as I will ever be,” Scott replied, the uneasiness apparent in his voice.


	6. Heartlines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next installment. Remember constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

            The fight that had followed the initial exchange between the two was one of hushed but angry whispers. Scott had been ready to do what needed to be done, he knew he owed his friend that much. When Derek had held him back and let him know that he would not be the one doing the biting he found himself at the end of his fuse, a whole mix of emotions boiling over all at once. He’d nearly yelled but caught himself at the last moment, a slew of curses and accusations flowing from his mouth.

            “Are you done?” Derek had asked when Scott had fallen silent again.

            “No, I’m not done.” He snapped back.

            “Could you be?”

            Scott rolled his eyes, “He’s my friend. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

            “That doesn’t change anything about what we’re doing here, if you want to fight about it later then we’ll worry about it then. For now do you want to try and save your friend’s life or not?”

            Scott fists clenched, “You can’t just keep using that as a way to get your way. It isn’t—“

            “What, fair?” Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “Let me tell you something, life isn’t fair and the sooner you accept that the easier things will be for you.”

            Again Scott was overcome with the urge to punch Derek. A very strong urge to punch him, “It’s not your decision to make.”

            “Actually it is my decision to make since I’m the one who will be doing it.”

            “Why you and not me?”

            “Plenty of reasons. None I feel like discussing.”

            Scott wasn’t one hundred percent sure if pure rage was what he was feeling but that feeling was quickly replaced with panic when there was a knock on the door.

            There was just enough time for Scott to drop into his chair and Derek to lean against the wall and turn his gaze out the window before she stepped in quietly. Scott had rested his head on his hand and managed to slow down his breathing enough that he was pretty sure he was convincingly feigning sleep. The nurse left the door open a crack and crossed the room to the bed, by the time she noticed Derek she had already fixed the covers over the patient and checked a few of the monitors. She let out a small squeak of surprise when she caught sight of him standing there, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

            “Sorry,” She said, her voice soft so as not to wake Scott, “I figured he’d be sleeping,” she gestured to the young man in the chair, “but I wasn’t expecting…who are you?”

            “Just a friend.” Derek responded, turning to look at her fully, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

            “Oh no, I just wasn’t expecting…I’m supposed to check.”

            Scott fought the urge to squirm. The younger nurse clearly had poor taste in men if the sullen antics of Derek Hale were taking her in.

            Derek caught on to the perturbation as soon as it reared its head and he clung to it, his attitude shifting to lay on the charm as thick as he could manage.

            Several embarrassing and gag worthy moments later Derek had the nurse wrapped around his finger and Scott was coming to the end of his patience and his ability to pretend to be asleep. Finally, thankfully, the nurse left the room and Scott lifted his head, shooting Derek a look that he hoped conveyed everything he meant it to.

            “Could you be any more sickening?”

            “I’m sure I could, but that’s not why we’re here.”

            “Right, about that…”

            “Can we just not start that again?”

            “No.”

            “Good.”

            “I said—“

            Derek raised a hand to shush him and Scott found himself silenced by the sheer audacity of the act. He sputtered a moment before clamming up and vowing that the argument about this would not be the last.

            The older man took note of his body language and the heaviness in the room, sighing, “It’s for the best, Scott. Really. You’re just going to have to trust me on this. And reel it in a little. We can’t have you losing control right now.”

           

**

 

            The act itself was over more quickly than Scott expected. The moon shone bright through the windows, casting a spotlight on the prone teenager and the older man beside him. To Scott it felt like somewhere someone wanted there to be a witness to the act being committed; it felt completely surreal. Truth be told though he had expected something with a little more ceremony to it, something like you see in the movies with rising music and intense looks from one person to another. Instead the bite was a quick one, an honest but almost insignificant act, given on the wrist in hopes that the injuries already there would disguise it should anyone care to look twice.

            Scott stood waiting with a damp paper towel from the bathroom to clean and wrap his friend’s bleeding wrist with bandages he’d stolen earlier from the supply closet. He had taped the bandage down, noticing that his hands were shaking as he did so; he hadn’t realized he’d been so nervous.

            Derek kept close in the following moments, eyes fixed on Stiles’ face as though he was anticipating something. His face relaxed as time ticked by and there was no change in the young man. Scott wondered what Derek had expected to happen, searching his face for a hint he knew he would not find.

 

**

            The convulsions began only moments after the air finally seemed clear of tension. Scott and Derek had just sat down, Scott in his chair, Derek on the edge of the far window, both of the wolves with their eyes fixed on Stiles though for different reasons. The first jolt had Derek on his feet; halfway through the second he’d made it to the bedside. Scott rose with him, his heart suddenly feeling like it was beating a million times a minute. His voice was shaky as he spoke.

            “What’s happening?”

            “You think I know?” Derek shot back under his breath, raising his hand to press it against Stiles’ forehead. “He’s running a fever.”

            Scott grabbed one of Stiles’ shoulders, “We should call the nurse. A doctor?”

            “So they can do what, Scott? It’s not—“ Derek’s statement was cut short by the sound of the monitors going off. The arrival of medical staff was imminent. He growled and muttered a frustrated “Damn it” under his breath.

            Scott slammed his hand against the call button above the bed but by that time he could hear the sound of people coming down the hallway.

            “What happened?” The nurse asked as she pushed the door open and entered the room.

Her voice struck Scott as eerily calm for the situation that was unfolding. A team of people followed her in, but the whole thing was so overwhelming Scott could hardly force himself to speak. He just shook his head and muttered over and over again, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…”

“We’re going to need you to back away, clear us some space.”

Even as she said it the people in the room were practically pushing Scott out of the way. Derek grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back into the far corner of the room and holding him there, initially he fought but as the scene continued to unfold in front of him his strength and determination seemed to forsake him and in just a few short moments he found himself unable to hold himself up any longer, his shoulders drooped and his body became limp. If not for Derek’s support he would have slumped to the floor.

 

**

            It had been half an hour since the incident and Scott and Derek were sitting in a shadowed corner of the cafeteria. The eatery, normally full of staff, patients, and visitors alike, was vacant save for one girl tending to a late night coffee stand in the opposite corner and a few doctors and nurses sipping at the large cups of coffee she sold in an attempt to make it through the remaining part of their twelve hour night. Scott had been staring at the same ding in the table for the last thirty minutes.

            Derek had scrounged up enough change to buy two cups of black coffee. The first he sipped at trying to avoid the watered down, burnt taste of it. The second sat in front of Scott, growing colder as the moments passed.

            “Moping isn’t going to help him you know.”

            “He’d be fine if I hadn’t listened to you to begin with.” Scott replied, his voice flat.

            “If you consider lying in a bed in a coma fine maybe we should work on your definition of the word.”

            Scott finally looked up from the dent in the table, the shadows under his eyes deeper than before. “You made me meet you at the warehouse.” He was too exhausted, too drained to be angry.

            “I didn’t make you anything,” Derek replied, “I asked and you showed up. I didn’t tell you to bring your friend along.”

            Shaking his head Scott lowered his gaze back down to the table, again focusing on the chipped spot. “Nothing is a choice with you. I couldn’t not show up.”

            Derek took another sip of coffee then set the cup on the table. He had no response to the accusation and, if he were to be honest with himself, Scott was likely right. He wouldn’t have had a choice.

            “And do you really think he would have let me go alone?” He shook his head, “He’s a good friend. My best. And for some stupid reason he tried to protect you. And even after all of that I still don’t even know what you were trying to tell me.” Looking up again this time he met the older man’s eyes. “Was it so important? Was it _this_ important?”

            Derek leaned back into the cushion of the booth, closing his eyes as the words came at him, hitting right where it hurt. He raised his hands to his face rubbing his eyes with his palms then dropping them back to his sides with a deep sigh.

            “Answer me, Derek. Was it really _that_ important?”

            “No.” He replied solemnly, “No it wasn’t.”


	7. Never Let Me Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, I'm training for a new position at work and my hours have gone up so updates might be a little more sparse. Please always feel free to leave constructive criticism and thank you all for reading! Your comments and kudos make me smile.

            An hour passed in silence when their conversation died. Scott bought the second round of coffee. The taste of it, once he’d taken a taste because his mouth had become unbearably dry, appealed to him. Maybe it was the bitterness, maybe it was the way it was just a shadow of what it was supposed to be, either way it spoke to the part of him that wanted to just sit and wallow in his misery. Derek had been watching the clock for the last fifteen minutes, it was irritating the hell out of Scott but despite his urge to scream at everything and just let loose he didn’t have the strength or the energy right now. Instead he simply gave in and followed Derek’s gaze to the hands moving slowly around the face of the clock with their annoying ‘tick, tick, tick, tick.’ He watched as the minute hand shifted upward, forty-five past the hour, fifteen ‘til two.  When had all of this happened? How much time had actually passed since Derek had arrived at the hospital? How long had they waited before they’d gone through with it? When had they even come to the cafeteria? How long had that taken? And where was a doctor? Someone, anyone with news? Why was no one telling them what was going on.

            Scott rose mechanically from his seat, not knowing where he’d found the strength. Derek turned to watch him for a moment then stood himself. He followed the younger man as he walked that familiar path to the elevator; hit the button he must have hit a hundred times or more by now. Stood exactly one minute in front of the doors as the metal box carried them upward. Disembarked and made sure not to misstep where the elevator floor did not quite match up with that of the hospital. He made his way down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the hospital room. It was there that he stopped in his tracks, taking in the scene.

            The Sheriff sat, passed out drunk, next to the bed of his son. Stiles was as they had left him and Scott wondered if he’d hallucinated everything up to this moment until Derek came up behind him.

            “He smells like a bar.”

            “His son is in a coma, what more do you want?”

            “He could sit with his son. Be there for him.”

            “And watch him die?”

            “It’s his job, not yours Scott.”

            “You sound like my mother.”

            “She’s a smart woman then.”

            “It’s my fault he’s here.”

            “You said it was mine.”

            “Maybe I lied.”

            “Why would you lie about that?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Exactly.”

            The two men stepped quietly in the room, one after the other. Scott positioned himself on the floor next to his friend’s bed; Derek kept closer to the back of the room. He wasn’t too keen on being found here by the Sheriff whose distaste for him was less than subtle when sober. He didn’t want to find out how it would present itself in this sort of circumstance even though the possibility of waking him from that drunk of a stupor was slim to none.

            Despite Scott’s worry his exhaustion took over and he was soon passed out on the cold tile next to the bed.

Derek fought with the idea of trying to make him more comfortable for a moment but decided against it. He thought it would be better to just let the kid sleep rather than risk waking him up. Instead he rifled as quietly as he could through his bag until it produced a light grey zipped hoodie. He threw it on top of the passed out boy on the floor in hopes it would provide at least a little warmth. He then resumed his position in the back of the room where he kept eye on the scene until the sun began to rise. At that point he slipped out of the room to avoid any kind of confrontation that might arise when the drunken sheriff and the young wolf awoke.

**

            The sheriff’s head was pounding when he stirred from sleep. He tried to open one eye, then the other, but the light pouring in from the open blinds burned and so they remained shut.

            He didn’t much remember the events of last night, and what he did was hazy and incomplete.

_He’d been passed out at the table, hand still holding to the bottle he’d been draining shot by shot when the doorbell rang. He’d stumbled his way over and swung it open to reveal Melissa McCall standing there under the porch light._

_“The hospital has been trying to contact you for the last hour.” She stated, her disgust restrained for the time being but still hinted at in her tone._

_“Hospital?” He’d slurred back._

_“Yeah, the place where your son is lying on life support and my son is killing himself slowly. The hospital.” She snapped back. “Clean yourself up and get in the car.”_

_He’d hesitated, his mind and sense of logic muddled by the drunken haze. She’d stepped in then, pushing him into the house and locating, then dragging him to, the bathroom. Rather than wait for him to come to his senses instead she’d grabbed a towel and wet it down herself, trying to wash the boozy sweat from his face then grabbed the nearby can of spray deodorant and doused him in it. The next thing he remembered was being in her car, she was going on and on but he couldn’t make sense of any of it. Then he was in the hospital. They’d spoken to him about his son. A sense of despair, sickness in the pit of his stomach he couldn’t suppress. The chair. A kinder Melissa McCall wiping his face with a cold, damp washcloth. Then nothing until sunlight and the stinging of his eyes._

            When the throbbing of his head seemed to stabilize at a manageable level he slowly attempted to open his eyes again. This time the light did not bother him so much but it took a moment for his vision to clear. When it did he caught sight first of his son and then, out of the corner of his eye, the boy on the floor to whom his gaze shifted.

            He was paler than the sheriff had remembered. He looked thinner and even in sleep deep shadows were visible under his eyes. How many days had he been here, he wondered, eight? Ten? Every day since the accident?

            Nausea overcame him again and he closed his eyes to the room around him which had begun, out of nowhere, to spin. From behind him someone spoke softly. Melissa McCall.

            “Good morning, sunshine. Don’t you look lovely today.”

            “I feel like hell.”

            “Hence the sarcasm.”

            “How long have you been standing there?”

            “Long enough.”

            “You came to get me?”

            “I did.”

            “Thank you.” He replied sincerely.

            “Don’t thank me yet.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “The doctor wants to speak to you.”

**

 

Scott stirred, not sure when he’d fallen asleep or how his jacket had gotten from his bag to thrown over his body but he was grateful for the rest and grateful for the warmth nonetheless.  The voices of Mr. Stilinski and his mother were quiet but they reached his ears as soon as he decided to take notice of the world around him. They whispered back and forth rapidly, his mother accusatory at first, Mr. Stilinski apologetic. Then came the sound of the door opening and the Doctor’s voice followed, following none of the decorum of its predecessors.

            “We’ve lost any readings of brain activity,” it said, “And your son’s heart stopped last night despite...his body is...” Scott could hear the doctor clear his throat and the sound of some papers shuffling around, “We would like to recommend you seriously consider removing life support.”

Scott’s heart had nearly stopped at that and the rest of the conversation had been a blur. The sheriff’s anger, the sound of his mother trying to console him, the doctor excusing himself from the room to give him time to calm down, the sound of heavy sobbing that, even as it occurred, was being fought with every bit of energy. Scott felt sick; the guilt was welling in his stomach like poison. He closed his eyes tight, fighting the urge to vomit. His friend was going to die and he was the cause.

 

**

 

            It was a relief when his mother had finally calmed Mr. Stilinski down enough to get him to leave the room. Scott had remained still, listening to the sounds of movement and, eventually, the door shutting. He pushed himself up from the uncomfortable tile as soon as he heard the door click shut. Placing himself in the chair he slumped, his eyes fixed on his friend.

            “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, I couldn’t—I tried. I thought this was what you wanted.” He shook his head, a lump in his throat making his breathing shallow and unsteady, “I tried…”

            The sound of the door opening caused him to jump. He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and turned around to see who the intruder was. Derek slipped in, closing the door behind him.

            “A lot of shouting in here.”

            Scott nodded.

            “Anything I should know?”

            Scott shook his head, “You’ve helped enough.”

            “What did they say, Scott?”

            The young man hesitated a moment, trying to find his voice, “They want to pull the plug on him.”

            Derek shook his head, “It’s too soon.”

            “They don’t think he’s going to get better.”

            “Not if they don’t give him the time to heal.”

            “It didn’t work, Derek. It didn’t work and now who knows what’s going on? It could be eating him from the inside out…we killed him.”

            “We didn’t kill him.” Derek replied, shaking his head, “If he dies it was that thing that killed him.”

            “That _thing_ …no. That _thing_ put him here. That _thing_ dug his grave. But we lowered him into the ground. We put the last nail in his coffin.”

            Derek shook his head again, “We have to give it time. We have to buy more time.”


	8. Landscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay guys, I've had a lot of badness fall on my lately and I'm trying to work out of it so updates will be slower for the time being. I hope you like the chapter and I can't wait to post more. Thank you for sticking with me. :) Enjoy!

The Sheriff sat in the cafeteria, a cup of cold coffee in his hands; it was a scene very similar to that of the night before when Scott and Derek had occupied the same space.

He was vaguely aware of Melissa’s presence across the table from him but he had hardly acknowledged her in the last...how long had it been? It felt like an hour, maybe it had only been minutes, he wasn’t sure. But he was at lease sure that the coffee was cold and that it had been, at the very least, warm when he had gotten it. Hadn’t it?

Melissa’s hand found his wrist and delivered a light squeeze. It was warm, soft, or at least softer than he was used to anymore, and the gesture was surprisingly comforting to him given the circumstances. He finally looked up at her, his gaze unintentionally locking momentarily with hers; he hadn’t realized she had been watching him.

Now he watched her and the way her eyes seemed to be filled with such compassion, he watched and saw they were startling mirrors of his own sorrow. He noticed the way her hand hadn’t moved since it had delivered the comforting gesture and felt his heart drop. He felt the lump rise in his throat and the tears welling again in his eyes. He turned away from her then, unable to stare at the woman who so easily forced him to see what he had been trying to avoid.

“I have to do it, don’t I?” The sound of his voice surprised him; he hadn’t meant to speak.

“You don’t _have to_ do anything, you have a choice.”

He shook his head, ignoring tears he hadn’t realized had begun to flow. He choked on his next words, “If I do it…does it mean I love…does it mean I love him too much—to let him suffer, or…” he paused taking a deep breath, trying to steady his speech but to no avail, “If I don’t does…does it mean I love him—too much to watch him die?”

            Melissa squeezed his wrist again as he brought his other hand to his mouth, clenching it into a fist and biting hard on his knuckles.  Her voice was soft and as gentle as she could make it when she spoke, “I can’t answer that for you. I wish I could but I can’t.”

            The sheriff brought his fist down hard against the table, letting out a cry of frustration. Melissa simply held tighter.

 

**

 

            _It was dark. Very, very dark. And a little weird. Maybe too weird. Something wasn’t right, but Stiles couldn’t quite put his finger on it. When he looked up he saw an endless blackness filled with little points of light, when he looked down he saw the same. He stared back and forth, or up and down, he wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. He tried to lift his arm and when he did he felt something ripple around him. Looking back down the darkness below him was distorted by small waves. It was like water but at the same time not quite. It seemed heavier, maybe even thicker but it was hard to say.  It was almost too hard to think really._

_He tried to lift his hand again, tried to look at it, but he couldn’t see it, just the tiny lights and the blackness between them. In the distance he thought he saw a bird land, he felt the ripples he created, awfully big for a bird. He tried to move closer to it, tried to walk toward it, but he couldn’t manage it.  ‘Tap tap tap,” He heard once, then again, “tap tap tap.” He wondered what it could possibly be tapping on when there was nothing around._

_“Bird?” The sound had been involuntary and his voice sounded strange it seemed to echo around him but at the same time remain trapped in his head. Had he even spoken? “Bird?” He tried again, but to no avail. He watched the little thing just floating there on the nothingness in front of him, fixed on the oddness of its presence. Then, out of nowhere the creature lifted its head and looked straight at him. Despite the distance and the size of it he could feel the eyes watching. It stood, prepared itself, and then suddenly it was flying. No wait, not just flying, it was headed straight for him._

_He tried to raise his arms in front of his face but nothing came up to defend him, the darkness below him only rippled more violently. The bird was shooting straight for his face, his heart was beating rapidly, he could feel it, it was there, about to hit, and he closed his eyes, preparing for the impact and then—nothing. Slowly he cracked his eyes open. There suspended in midair in front of him, as though frozen in time, was the bird. He tried to reach out to touch it and to his surprise he could see his arm this time, he grew distracted by the sight, by how the paleness of his skin stood out against the darkness. He stared, confused by exactly **how** pale he was. He knew he wasn’t exactly in possession of the gleaming tan body like some people but he wasn’t exactly this pasty either; at least not usually._

_He looked back at the bird, still just frozen there, staring at him. For a split second he thought he saw it blink.  Do birds even blink?_

_Just as he reached out again to touch the creature, a searing hot pain shot across his front from shoulder to hip. He dropped to his knees, the formerly liquid-like world around him now felt solid; he held his stomach with his left hand, fighting the urge to vomit. Then came the pain in his heart. He sat back on his knees, clutching his chest with his other hand. He looked down and could see where blood had begun to stain his clothes. He tried to apply pressure but couldn’t, he felt himself becoming weaker, slipping away. Then he heard the sound of wings, he looked up, his breathing ragged as he watched. The bird began to move again, changing directions with almost no effort and shooting straight up into the darkness._

_Almost as quickly as it began the pain ceased. He looked back down. Where before there had been blood staining the front of him was nothing, not even a spot of dirt. His breathing was still ragged but he pushed himself to stand anyway. He turned in a circle, searching, but he could no longer see any signs of the bird. He sighed, scratching his right wrist then dropping it back to his side. Then bringing it up again and scratching it and dropping it again. Then again. And another time. Why was it so itchy? What was going on? He looked and saw something that made his heart fall into his stomach, a still bleeding bite mark stared back at him, and the shape was unmistakable.  The world around him lightened, startling him further. He looked up to see the moon hovering over him, the blackness around him dissolving under its glow. He felt his arm raising, an involuntary action but he could not, no matter how he fought, stop it. His palm faced upward, the light seemed to collect in the center of it then it began to move upward toward the perforations in his wrist, it was through these that it found its way in. He could feel the light snaking its way through his veins, it was a cool, almost pleasant sensation. He closed his eyes feeling it move through him; it felt safe, inviting. He began to feel himself drifting; he didn’t know when it had started all he knew was that he was peaceful, floating. Down…down…down…_


End file.
